


Plot Holes

by CopicsForNameless



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Fire, Firefighters, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopicsForNameless/pseuds/CopicsForNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakensheild is what some may call a reckless man. What ever else could a man who runs towards fire be called? But reckless or not he would throw caution to the wind countless of times just to attempt to do for others what no one could do for himself and his home. That is, until a reckless fire was set ablaze to the house of a seemingly unimportant Bilbo Baggins. Now Thorin may have to learn to do things in an altogeter cautious way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters over tea

"What’s all this, then?” The woman accused. Her voice only drawing Bilbo’s attention for fraction of a second, he glanced absentmindedly over to the letters littering his door way. In truth, Bilbo had not been present minded for some time now. He thought idly that he should have tidied a little in the face of company, but the thought only lasted a minute before he once again attempted to submerge himself in his book. 

"Letters." He responded, offhandedly. “From some… Grand- or another. He came by here, offering me adventure.” If Bilbo’s mind had not been wandering he may have tsked. What good would adventure do a Baggins? Especially when his very home town may be underlined with it as he sat lazily in his chair. No, adventure belonged in his books and even those didn’t spark his interest as of late.

"Grand? Do you mean to tell me some sort of peerage came asking a task of you?” She challenged. Bilbo glanced up but his eyes soon returned to his book, his hands were now toying with and very likely ruining the pages of the old book. Humming in response Bilbo let his mind wander back to a recent occurrence he heard about on the news. A lot not far from his home had gone vacant, and while that was usually no surprise to the area the particular means that the building had fallen under vacancy was- 

"Well?” The litigious woman quipped. Hands now on her hips.

“Well what Lobelia?” Bilbo asked, as he set down his book with a thud. He was already becoming annoyed of her spiteful nature, and so early in her visit too. Usually he could last a couple hours without loosing his temper.

“Well what did you tell him? He might be offering money.” She said, sounding for the first time that night a bit pleasant. Her posture even became more relaxed as she spoke.

“Oh he did.” Bilbo mused thinking of the strange man who visited not more then two weeks ago. Of course there was very little importance to that meeting. Other then the heated insistence of the elderly man. “And I told him I am not interested.”

“Oh of course you would.” She huffed. Then set about into tiding up the letters for him, and other-wisely busing herself. She made her intent known however, when she went out of her way to later place said letters on the little table beside Bilbo’s chair.

***

Lobelia never did stay for long. Bilbo often suspected that her only reason for visiting at all was in an attempt to get on Bilbo’s good side, and hopefully into his wil. But she could be pleasant company if she willed herself to be; all in all she was something of an unlikely but not completely un-welcome friend. 

Deciding that two hours spent in his chair -trying to read and trying to organize his thoughts, but not doing much of either- was enough. He pushed himself up and out of it.

He moved into his dinning room. The table was littered with papers much like the entrance hall had been just an hour prior. Honestly it was a blessing that his company did not find her way into this room, as Bilbo was not sure how to explain away his new little obsession. Article after article clipped from the papers dusted the room. Frankly it was just as much a mess as his mind had been these past months. The articles were all very different yet shared one similarity, each had told of a fire. And while there seemed to be some connections, and no lack of suspicion Bilbo had really been just grasping at straws until these past two weeks. 

Now bilbo was no crime expert, not by any extent. What knowledge he did have originally stemmed from fiction. It came from stories in which the hero could outwit any foe. That notion was originally what pipped Bilbo’s interest, but no matter it's proficiency literature seemed to fall short. Due to the shortcomings of novels Bilbo found himself drawn more and more to the criminal occurrences in reality. It really wasn’t any more then an intellectual hobby, something that he found he liked reading about and could pass the time. Generally this interest stopped at skimming the papers, or reading the occasional internet document. So it was to Bilbo’s great surprise that he found himself often a night skimming over the papers and internet for any news on a particular case. Almost -to his abhorrence- obsessively. 

Despite the disdain that he was becoming nearly obsessive over the case, his attention to detail had some perks. One of which came to him when he was nearly ready to give up on the endeavour. Surely this all had to be circumstance, that and the way Bilbo’s mind was telling him he needed to get out more. But he had been wrong to start doubting himself. Over the course of the last two weeks some of these past disaster sites had been bought by one of three companies. Some of these lots having been vacant and ravaged for more then a decade. Already construction was to go under way. And while this was thrilling and terrifying all at once it was also very daunting. 

Throughout the course of several months -when his insistent combing through the news had actually brought something into question- Bilbo had left three anonymous messages for the police. Each message explaining his findings. He wasn’t a hero, or a detective, for goodness sakes he wasn’t even a crime enthusiast! Not really. It just so happened that one time while he skimmed through the news that he had a gut feeling and listened to it. 

Honestly the police had it from here. They could easily take care of it. He wanted the police to take care of it! Bilbo knew whole heartedly that it was time to move on. He discovered the truth hadn’t he? Some government conspiracy was at hand and he was content in the knowledge that he had unveiled it. Relished in the understanding that he had outwitted it. 

And was perhaps a little disheartened in the thought that this was all over. 

“no, no, no, no!” He hissed to his empty home. “That is quite enough of that!” He burst out and busied himself by pushing a few of the articles into a nearby box. 

Not quite finished but not quite able to bring himself to, Bilbo ventured to the kitchen. And put on the hot water kettle. He found himself once again in his arm chair -and thinking of nothing else to immerce himself in- he settled into reading the up most letter on the pile from his strange visitor. 

For the most part the letters all but begged of Bilbo’s company. For the lad to leave his home and meet with the elderly man. The most insistant being the last he read and that letter had arrived sometime the day prior, the urgency of it sent chills down Bilbo’s spine. But- that was to be thought of on another day. He was pulled from the letter by the shrill scream of his kettle sounding throughout his home. 

He then moved to to the kitchen, snagging the tea as he entered.

“Oh hell.” He muttered darkly


	2. The whirling and churning of thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look I don't actually know anything about fire fighters or anything

Thick grey smoke reached up into the night sky over Baggend, pooling there until the darkness of the night all but washed it from view. They were out of view, but not gone; as those same smothering clouds lingered in the streets and in the lungs of anyone too close. Fire licked up into, and past the quaint home, and was making quick work of it. The little home would very likely be inhabitable within the next half hour, even if the flames could be quenched before they devoured the home. Others were saying it had to have started in the kitchen, apparently a kettle left on to long was to blame, the fire led to an explosion. It was all rather brutal for such a pretty home. It was also a bit sad, no one should lose their home in such a way.

The fire had not spread yet, and that was at least some good news, Mahal knew Thorin could use some good news tonight.

It's strange how some things like to linger in the back of minds. Stirring and churning there, ever content to rattle you whenever it is thought that a moment of peace could be had. For Bilbo Baggins that ever stirring thought was that of fire and deceit. Of Government conspiracies, playing out in the back of his mind, some admittedly more ludicrous than others. That over the course of the last several months had been where the small man’s mind generally wandered. 

Strange may it be that fires plagued the mind of Thorin Oakensheild as well. But instead the fires in Thorin’s mind were ever changing and none too consistent. When on some days he would be forced to push through grief and guilt, others he would be faced with a deep set longing. Those fires in his mind were ghostly images of the very ones that had crushed Erebor.

This was, unfortunately, how Thorin came into his profession. When long ago -yet still all too soon- fire and flame took his home. The town of Erebor; that was all but ran by the Durin's, was demolished with the burn of countless fires. Then it was later swept up away into the clutches of some firm or another. There had been countless losses, and it seemed that none were spared in the widespread grief.

After that day Thorin's actions had never been anything less then reckless; though his endeavours had mostly been successful. To the world he was reserved and efficient. It was only his closest kin who recognized the borderline obsession Thorin harboured. He needed to save others from ever befalling the same tragic fate a great deal of his family suffered. He needed to do for others what no one, not even he could have done for his family. It was never enough, at least not really. The satisfaction would always fade much to quickly. But even despite his recklessness, obsessiveness, and the danger he put himself in, it kept him sane. Throwing himself full heartily and quite literally into his work helped him keep what sense he had left. What else was there to be done? His home was long gone, with no possibility of ever returning. 

Sketchy as the whole affair with Erebor seemed, it was laid to rest. Erebor was hardly mentioned around the brooding firefighter in fears of sparking the ever there guilt and anger he held over the whole topic. Though it was also done in respects to the man who now seemed to give everything he had to right a wrong he hardly had business in righting. 

This is all, until a reckless fire set ablaze to the house of a seemingly unimportant Bilbo Baggins. 

***

Thorin should really not have been working that night. Of course, this knowledge would never have stopped him; what he should do and what he did do often did not match up. Usually this was because of his insistence that he was completely indestructible. He could be very stubborn indeed, and would be exactly that when it came to the denial of his own mortality. He mind as well of been a king these nights, with a small army of trusted but hardy companions behind him. Not that he saw himself as such, Thorin Oakensheild was not that shade of delusional.

If this had been a regular night, with more sleep, more food, and less pressing matters at hand, maybe Thorin would have charged into the home. That was the usual after all, it was rare that he was not the first inside a home doing what he could to save it. Tonight, he questioned coming, arrived late, hesitated outside, and then lingered by the frightened neighbours just a moment to long.

His attention had drawn back to the flames, he took a deep calming breath then went to take a step forward. Before he could; rushed footsteps and frantic calls drew his head in their direction. Running towards him was perhaps one of the smaller men Thorin had come across in his life, and Thorin was not exactly tall himself. The man leaned into his knees once he reached the firefighter, panting towards the cement. A bundle of grocery bags on either arm. 

“That’s… My… House…” He managed between heavy breaths. 

“I see.” Thorin mumbled turning slightly to the man “Is there any chance someone is in there? Any pets?” He inquired, eyes now only on the smouldering house.

“My books…” The man groaned in exasperation before shooting up. His eyes wide with something Thorin couldn’t quite place. He hoped vaguely that Books was some terrible pet name, and this man wasn’t grieving paper. As dark as that thought was, maybe books was a fish. The man turned towards Thorin now. “I- I have important documents in there! In my dinning room. Papers, maps! You need to get them for me!” He exclaimed the small creature’s eyes all but bulging out as he begged the firefighter. Ah, so not a pet at all; the materialism of some.

Thorin was growing impatient of all this. He had friends and family in there, a minute or two had passed by and in these situations those few minutes could be imperative “I can not spend any time on retriev-“

“But you must!” This man was too insistent for his size. But all the same it somehow worked on Thorin. With a low groan the Firefighter was jogging off towards the house, just barely hearing the scattered mutterings of the petty man he encountered. 

The house was hot, It was always hot. They became that much worse in the nights when there was such a contrast between the temperature of the flames and the cook air of the night. Crouched low Thorin made his way towards where the fire raged most violently. To get that way he found himself passing through what must have been the unknown man’s dinning room. He spotted the papers, most already in a box on a table, those were salvageable at lease. Any that littered the floor or other furniture were already gone. He spotted a map and his stomach churned. Thorin despite his location; froze as he stared down at a slightly singed map of his former home, now deeply unsettled. In that moment he felt the need to storm out that instant and demand the small man’s connection to it. But that would have to wait. The room around him was quickly giving way to hellish fire and suffocating heat. Thorin’s skin had already begun to feel violated from it all. He shoved the papers into his many assorted pockets, and folded the map more neatly. 

He moved to the kitchen area where most of his companions were already, undistinguishable in the haze the smoke created. They all worked vigorously to get the flames under control. Settling back into route Thorin willed himself to put all thoughts of the map out of his head, as he and his fellow firefighters began to kill the flames. The fire raged deafening around them, but perhaps that was for the better. It did do a decent job at drowning out any screams that belonged in his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, as per-usual with me if I'm  
> Posting a chapter that means I have the next done, however I am completely at a cross roads with the chapter after next, 
> 
> So Im not sure when my next update will be, but it's likely gonna take me a while


End file.
